


Sweet Like Honey

by Melo_Mapo



Series: Din Djarin's Secret Network of Past Lovers [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (literally), Din has a crush, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Paz is a drama bantha, Pre-Season/Series 01, Teenage Shenanigans, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: Paz plays a prank on the Covert's returning hunters, and Din takes the blame. Thankfully, Paz knows how to get himself forgiven.The underage warning is there as an abundance of caution. Din is 16 and just swore to the Creed, so he's an adult under Mandalorian law. Paz is 18. They both are fumbling idiots.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla
Series: Din Djarin's Secret Network of Past Lovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940539
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	Sweet Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> **Mando’a vocabulary:**   
> _buir_ \- parent  
>  _karyai_ \- common room  
>  _osi'yaim_ \- despicable person, lit. *one living in shit*  
>  _uj’ayali_ \- dense, sticky-sweet cake made of nuts and dried fruit, infused with spiced syrup  
>  _beroya(se) - bounty hunter(s)  
>  _ori'jagyc_ \- bully, someone who picks on someone smaller, lit. *big man*  
>  _chakaar_ \- thief  
>  _ori'haat_ \- it’s the truth, used here as “for real!”  
>  _haat, ijaa, haa'it_ \- truth, honor, vision: words used to seal a pact  
>  _riduur_ \- spouse  
>  _ni su'cuyi_ \- I’m still alive  
>  _mir'sheb_ \- smartass  
>  _ad_ \- child_

Din was running as fast as his legs would carry him, dodging adults as he weaved his way further from the lively core of the Covert and deeper into the less-used tunnels. Had he breath to spare, he would have cursed Paz, but the still unfamiliar weight of his new armor and helmet was tiring him.

While his escape had looked haphazard to the adults chasing him, Din had taken a careful route, and, his  _ buir _ leading the charge only 12 paces behind, the teenager used a sharp turn in the tunnel to hide his scramble upwards and into an air intake vent. Quickly crawling through the smaller space that barely fit his armored frame, he dropped back down in a tunnel parallel to the one he’d just escaped. Standing still to avoid giving out his position through the pounding of his feet, Din listened with a hint of pride to the dismayed exclamations of his pursuants. 

Knowing that his  _ buir _ would catch on fast, and find somebody small enough or willing to remove their armor to follow him, Din tiptoed away. Now to find Paz and knock some sense into the idiot… Din had a pretty good idea of where to find the other teenager – no, man. They were both men now, despite Paz’s behavior. Din headed further away from the  _ karyai _ , his step sure. In need of more solitude than most others, he had spent many hours exploring the Nevarro tunnels as a teenager. He knew them better than anybody else at the Covert, no doubt about that, despite what Paz thought. 

_ Show a guy a couple of your secret hideaways and he’ll think he knows it all _ , darkly thought Din as he hurried to one of the spots he had shown the older boy in an attempt to impress him. The room was a small, lightless storage space. Long abandoned, it had only contained some empty crates and a few years’ worth of dust when Din had discovered it. Din had since done some cleaning and brought over some small comforts gleaned here and there: a spare bedroll and blanket, a lamp, a beat-up datapad with some books loaded up. 

Din had also taken great care in making the door completely silent, and the tunnel the room opened on didn’t have light either. While he sometimes found the total obscurity oppressive, it was working in his favor today. Turning off his helmet’s light, Din stood at the entrance and gently slid it open, smug when it did so without even the barest whisper. Inside, the dim light of the datapad gave Paz away, a beacon in the otherwise absolute darkness. The heavy-in-training nonchalantly sat on a pile of crates, legs dangling and leaning back on the wall. Hopping the other did not remember to activate his visor’s heat sensor, as he often did, Din slipped in the room, avoiding by memory the obstacles that might be in his way. Two steps took him to the wall, out of range of the datapad’s light, and in another three he was next to the crates Paz sat on. Bracing himself, Din seized one of Paz’s legs, and pulled. 

The fracas of armor against duracrete was most satisfying. 

“What the… Din?” 

Din kicked the datapad behind a crate, where its light was snuffed. While Paz was trying to detangle himself from the floor, Din activated his visor’s heat sensor, located the other boy’s head, and mercilessly ripped out his helmet’s light. Blind, Paz was helpless against Din as he got back up, hands extended in front of him as he tried to avoid bumping into things. It would only last until the other remembered he had heat vision, but in the meantime, Din was free to taunt him. 

“On fait moins le malin maintenant, hein,  _ osi'yaim _ .” 

Paz would only understand the Mando’a insult tacked at the end, but Din was angry, and knew his tone would convey the message. Paz had oriented himself towards his voice, so Din soundlessly moved to another position. He did so just in time to avoid Paz’s attempt at grabbing him. The other looked rather comical, his hands and arms closing on empty air. Slowly turning on himself, Paz whined: 

“Come on, Din, you’ve got to admit it was well done.” 

It had been quite masterful: Paz snatching the special  _ uj’ayali _ baked for the returning  _ beroyase _ , still warm from the oven, while the cook’s back was turned. Then, when the cook had run into the  _ karyai _ , furious, Paz had pointed to Din, who was about to exit the room, and Din had had to run to avoid the collective fury of the  _ beroyase _ , his  _ buir _ among them. His failure to provide the cake would have not assuaged their anger, as Din was known for his sweet tooth and his ability to gobble up the densest of uj cake in a couple of bites. 

“I am  _ not _ taking the fall for your black hole of a stomach, Viszla.”

He spit the name like a curse, viciously sibilant, and moved again as Paz tried to reach him.

“My black hole of a stomach? I’m not the one who keeps snacks in my hideouts.”

And Paz dove for Din’s special crate, in which he indeed squirreled away snacks. 

“Don’t you dare, Viszla, wasn’t the  _ uj’ayali _ enough?!” yelled Din, giving chase. 

At the last moment, Paz flipped around and finally wrapped his arms around Din. 

“Gotcha,” he crowed.

The two boys tussled for a bit, rolling this way and that on the ground, Din’s frustration mounting as Paz used his superior body mass and strength to thwart Din’s attempts at breaking free. 

“Let me go, you… you  _ ori'jagyc _ !” complained Din.

Paz recoiled, letting go of the smaller boy. Din crawled away, wondering if he should apologize. Paz was sometimes self-conscious about his size. At eighteen, with at least four more years of growth ahead of him, he was already the tallest in the Covert, and not far from the heaviest too, especially since he had started his heavy infantry training the previous year. The silent stretched out, and Din reluctantly started: 

“I’m…

“Sorry.”

“... sorry.”

Paz chuckled:

“You first.”

“I shouldn’t have called you that,” said Din, “ _ chakaar _ would have done the trick.”

“That’s ok. I am a big guy, after all,” sighed Paz before adding: “I should have warned you about my plan.”

“Why would I have gotten along with a plan that only profits you?” asked Din, turning on his side to look at the blurry heated shape in his visor.

“What do you mean… Din, I got the cake for you.” 

Was Paz joking? They were friends, sure, but the punishment Paz was going to receive when the truth would come out was not worth getting a friend some cake. Confused, Din fumbled his next words:

“You… what? For me?”

Din sounded incredulous even to himself, and Paz’s voice was hesitant when he asked:

“You like sweet stuff, no?”

“I do,” answered Din honestly, still a bit lost.

“Oh, ok, great. Well, I got you the cake, and I’m pretty sure it’s even soaked in cinnamon honey, not just syrup.” 

The bluster was back in Paz’s voice, if a bit strained.

“I… Thanks? But Paz, why?”

The silence stretched out, just their breathing in the dark room, before Paz, clearing his throat, said:

“I like you?”

Paz liked  _ who _ now? Din had thought he’d kept his crush secret, but was Paz aware and having him on? Feeling his hackles rise, Din said, acerbic: 

“You don’t sound so sure, Paz.” 

“No! I mean, yes, I’m sure. I like you,” replied the boy, voice surer on the second go-around.

“You never said anything,” protested Din, still having a hard time believing it. 

“I thought it was pretty clear. Do you see me spend hours dusting anybody else’s secret hiding holes?”

Din’s overzealous memory presented him with a still from a few weeks ago, when Paz, down to his helmet and pants, chest glistening with sweat in the lamplight, had helped Din clean the floor they were currently still laying on. 

“I don’t know what you do with your spare time!” Din protested, his body heating up at the memory he had maybe, definitely not, thought of while touching himself. 

“Well, I don’t dust anybody else’s anything,” retorted Paz.

“What about… Ruusan?” pushed Din.

“What about her?”

“She’s always draped all over you, you guys spar almost every day.”

“She’s a very tactile person, that’s all.”

“Paz, you’re the only one she's ‘tactile’ with. And she has not once asked to spar with me.” 

“I… okay, maybe we’ve both been a bit oblivious. I’ll have a conversation with her. But Din...”

Paz broke off, then continued, voice tight: 

“If you want to stay just friends, that’s fine, but just tell me. Why are you questioning this so much?”

Silence took over again as Din, his heart a fluttering bird, tried to grasp enough courage to admit the truth. He was sixteen, had survived war, knew how to kill others so many ways he’s stopped counting, and yet, his voice was a shaky murmur when he admitted:

“I needed to make sure… that you’re sure… because, I, erm, I like you to.”

“Oh.”

How could one syllable sound relieved and excited at once, wondered Din as he watched Paz sit up slowly. Din mirrored him, focusing on not hyperventilating under his helmet as the bigger man walked on his knees over to him. Paz’s hands, extended in front of him, made contact with Din’s chest plate first. Paz let his fingers trail down Din’s sides, then to where his knees made contact with the floor. Mimicking Din’s position, Paz kneeled, and waited. Din laughed nervously.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now, we eat some cake.” 

Paz leaned forward and Din squeaked, leaning back as he felt the other’s chestplate weigh on his. Paz chuckled and leaned back, having grabbed a small package off the crate behind Din. 

“Din.”

“Yeah?”

“Take off your helmet?”

Had they been anywhere near light, Paz would not even have dared mentioning it. But the darkness of the tunnels was a known loophole, one some adults propositioned each other with when they thought nobody was around to hear them. 

“Wha… what about the heat vision?” asked Din.

“The heat… Oh! I really am a moron. Why do I always forget the kriffing heat vision?”

Paz sounded so agonized, Din couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll do it, if you do it too,” he said. 

If Paz had been anybody else, Din would have called the sound that came out of his vocoder a squeal, but as it was, Din gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Was that a yes?” he asked, teasing. 

Paz’s answer was a breathless yes, and Din laughed again, deactivating his own heat vision. Plunged in total darkness, Din said:

“I turned off my heat vision. On three?”

Paz agreed and they counted together, the soft snicks of their helmets unsealing synchronous as they lifted them up. Din carefully placed his helmet next to him, breathing in the dark. It smelled like the old wood and metal of the crates, and like the  _ uj’ayali _ Paz was holding. 

“Take your gloves off?” asked Paz, and his voice sounded both the same and different, richer and very close. Din obeyed, and waited, before realizing Paz had no way of knowing he had done as asked. 

“Ok, I’ve removed my gloves,” he said, blinking uselessly.

He heard shuffling, then felt it as Paz found his knee, fingers grazing his leg before they traced their way up. Din couldn't feel the light pressure through his chest plate, and so froze when Paz’s bare fingertips landed on his chin. Paz’s fingers were warm, his hand calloused and immense as it cradled Din’s face. 

“Sometimes, I can’t believe I don’t know your face,” he said, low, “I know the rest of you so well: how you fight, how you talk, how you vanish around corners. I could spot you unarmored in a crowd, of that I am certain. And yet, I’m ignorant of the color of your eyes, of the texture of your hair.”

Insides tied in a knot, speechless, Din guided Paz’s hand to his hair, which he had been neglecting to cut and so was long enough again for curling. 

“That I can give you,” he finally managed to whisper. 

Paz made a pleased sound, running his hand through Din’s hair. Time stretched, and Din sat, unmoving, enjoying the sensation. Eventually, Paz’s hand made its way back to his face, tracing his features lightly before briefly leaving, coming back only to bring a morsel of cake to Din’s lips. Warned by the potent smell of spice and honey, Din had opened his mouth, and Paz groaned, surprised, as Din closed it around both the piece and Paz’s fingertips. As he withdrew them, Din licked the sticky syrup off of Paz’s fingers. Paz’s breathing was heavy, and Din smiled to himself in the dark, chewing slowly, enjoying the earthy flavor of the nuts that each crunch would release, balancing out the sweetness of the tougher dried fruits and the spiciness of the sticky honey.

“Din…”

Din swallowed, and said:

“It’s good uj cake. They even used the date flour, I think.”

Paz huffed, and Din felt him move about. Paz found Din’s hands and placed the open wrapping containing the cake in them.

“All for me?” teased Din.

Paz whined before saying, voice breaking: 

“Forget the battlefield, I’m going to die right here, right now, all because of you.”

Din laughed. Most people thought Paz was the dignified heir to House Vizsla, stoic and controlled even at eighteen. Din knew better. Paz was a total drama bantha. 

“Last week, I was killing you with my inability to bench press more than my weight.” 

“ _ Ori'haat, _ Din…”

Taking pity on the other boy, Din leaned forward, transferring the cake to one hand and using the other to mimic Paz’s previous path. Using his sparring knowledge of Paz’s armor, which was not yet the full exoskeleton he’d wear as heavy infantry, Din took care to trail his fingers were only fabric separated them, tracing an uninterrupted line along the outside of Paz’s thigh and up his ribcage, then sneaking between the edge of the chest plate and the pauldron until he could climb the neck and trace the edge of the other’s jaw. Caressing Paz’s cheek, Din was glad to find there stubble as patchy as his. Resisting the urge to mock, Din explored further, to high cheekbones, and eyes needlessly closed. Reaching Paz’s hair, Din made a small sound of surprise at finding it thick and straight, tied at his nape in a bun. Paz’s hands joined his, and the man untied his hair, letting it fall free. Resisting the urge to drop the cake altogether and bury both hands in the soft cascade of it, Din chased the end of it to below Paz’s shoulder blades. 

“What color is your hair?” wondered Din.

“Black.”

Din hummed, combing his fingers through Paz’s hair, scratching his scalp, earning himself a moan. 

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah. It’s pulled tight all day,” explained Paz.

Reluctantly abandoning the smooth, hedonistic sensation of Paz’s hair, Din leaned back, breaking off a piece of cake and bringing it to Paz’s mouth, using his free hand to guide himself. The effect was a bit ruined by being able to feel Paz’s smile under his fingertips as he shoved the piece in. While Paz ate, Din wrapped the rest of the cake and put it aside. 

“So?” he asked. 

“Tasty,” answered Pax, “the honey is a nice touch.”

“A nice touch,” echoed Din in a murmur.

Using both his hands, Din reached for Paz’s face. He ran his thumbs along Paz’s cheekbones, from his nose to his temples, before leaning in. His lips hovering above Paz’s, Din paused, enjoying the other’s proximity. With an impatient wiggle, Paz shuffled closer, bumping their faces together. It took a second to orient themselves, noses, mouths, and teeth, and then they were kissing, hazelnut, cinnamon, and honey on their breaths. 

Din barely felt it in the first moment, his heart trying to beat out of his chest, his hands trembling, his gut twisting on itself. But then his body settled into it, and he could focus on the heat of Paz’s lips, the way the other boy had grabbed his arms and was squeezing him, the little happy sighs escaping Paz each time they parted and came back together. They kissed until they were breathless, until Din felt like the nearby lava river, barely contained by his armor. And his knees were starting to ache. 

“Paz…” Din moaned, letting himself sag just enough to tuck his forehead in Paz’s neck.

The other boy answered, elated: 

“I know, me too.”

Din let himself fall forward the whole way, and Paz caught him, shuffling until they were both lying down, Din half on top of Paz, holding hands. Once he felt a bit calmer, Din remarked: 

“They definitely lied. No way I’ll ever find this comfortable enough to sleep in.” 

Paz chuckled:

“You’ll get used to it, I swear. It’s the weirdest thing.” 

Din’s mind meandered down the path of Paz’s greater experience in life, with the two years and some change the other had on him. 

“Have you done this before?” he asked, curious. 

“You are the only one I trust to do something so stupid with,” reassured Paz. 

Din smiled, and kissed Paz’s chin. 

“What about… other things?”

“You mean sex?”

“Yeah.”

“Only by myself.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s that ‘hmmm’ for?” 

Din chuckled:

“The way people fawn over you, you’d think you’d gotten some already, is all.” 

Paz’s groan was definitely embarrassed: 

“It’s not my fault I’m the only one in our generation big enough to become heavy infantry. You’re the one they should fawn over.” 

“Me?” asked Din, surprised.

“Yeah. You’ll be a  _ beroya _ in a few years, you’ll get to actually get out, bring income to the clan. Me, I’ll be stuck in here, too big and recognizable to come out often, if at all.”

There was bitterness there, and resignation, two things Din rarely heard from Paz.

“Paz…” he said, propping himself on one hand so he could cradle Paz’s face with the other.

“It’s ok,” the other said, laying his large hand on top of Din’s,”This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” dutifully repeated Din, still unhappy.

“Just promise me one thing: whenever you come back from hunts, I’m the one you tell the whole story to, ok?”

Din smiled, leaning down for a kiss, lips against lips, and for another kiss, forehead against forehead. 

“ _ Haat, ijaa, haa'it _ ,” he swore.

They breathed together, then Paz said:

“Now that you’ve asked your questions, can I ask mine?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to do, Din? I’m happy with kissing, but since you’ve mentioned it, I wouldn’t say no to more.”

Heat bloomed through Din’s body again, his mind reeling with possibilities. There were a couple of illicit datapads that got passed on from teen to teen, but Din suspected it circulated only with adult oversight, because it only featured helmeted couples. While titillating, the unique situation they were now in offered more options.

“The other day,” slowly started Din, “Jahala had had a few drinks, you know how ei gets loud when that happens.”

Paz made a sound of agreement.

“Well, ei was talking to eir  _ riduur _ , about something they’d done the night before.”

“And?”

“And I want to try that, on you.” 

“Do I get to know what it is first?”

Din came closer, his mouth kissing a way up the other’s jaw to his ear, where he whispered what he had in mind. Paz’s hands gripped Din’s hips, and he breathed out:

“Din, yes, please…”

Din sat up, then stood, guiding Paz along with him to the bedroll. They undressed, clasps being released and armor clinking softly as they piled it to the side the only noises in the small room. Din hesitated once fully bare, feeling self-conscious despite the impossibility of being seen.

“Paz?” he called out.

“Yeah?”

Paz’s voice surprised Din by its proximity. In the dark, anytime they weren’t touching, it was easy to lose track of the other’s presence. Using Paz’s answer as a guide, Din walked forward a step, hands seeking. They met the other’s belly first, startling in its softness and warmth. Paz grunted in surprise, muscles moving under Din’s hands, the barest hint of body hair tickling his fingertips. Din suddenly felt arms embracing him, Paz’s hands spanning his whole back as the taller boy pulled him close. They both squirmed against each other as their bodies came into contact, chest against chest, bellies rubbing, crotches almost aligned. Din tilted his head, moving a hand to Paz’s head, gripping his hair to bring the taller boy’s mouth down to his. They kissed and hugged, hands roaming, until Din remembered he had a plan. 

Darting forward for one last kiss that hit Paz’s chin, Din lowered himself to his knees, and Paz made a strangled noise when Din’s hands brushed their way up his legs. A moan followed when Din used the tip of his nose to find his way, tracing a line up the inside of Paz’s leg until he bumped into his sac. Din nuzzled there for a moment, waiting for excitement to take back over his nerves, enjoying the smell of Paz’s skin. His smell, even there, was familiar from years of sparring together, sitting crammed together when reading the same datapad, or studying side by side. Feeling more settled, Din shuffled closer, finding a comfortable position on the bedroll before using one of his hands to explore Paz’s cock, his other hand gripping Paz’s thigh as much to steady the other man as to steady himself. Having confirmed through touch that Paz’s dick was much like his own – if a bit bigger – Din dared move his head up, trailing his mouth up the other’s soft, warm, and definitely very hard cock. Emboldened by the moaning coming out of Paz’s mouth, Din opened his own and licked a stripe up Paz’s cock. He repeated the process from a few different angles, until Paz tapped his shoulder twice, like he was surrendering the round. 

“Din, I need to sit down,” admitted Paz, and Din grinned to himself, smug. 

He had not noticed, but Paz’s legs were indeed trembling. Relinquishing his grip on the other, Din moved back, the bedroll shifting under his knees as the other sat down. As soon as he felt legs bracket him, Din moved forward, finding his way back to Paz’s cock, pumping it a couple of times before lowering his head to it. The angle was different, allowing him to open his mouth and taste the tip of it, extending a shy tongue to make first contact. Then, at Paz’s wordless encouragement, Din fit his lips around it, wondering what the kriff he was doing but enjoying it nonetheless, if only for the pleasure he knew Paz fas feeling. Using tongue, lips, and hands, Din started a rhythm, following Paz’s noise level to determine the things he liked more than others. Then, he had the idea to create suction by sealing his lips, and well… Din had not thought forward to the ejaculation part of the event, and so swallowed what he could, weirded out by the taste, but overall satisfied with the outcome. While Paz panted like he’d been running drills, Din groped around for the rags he kept near the bedroll for his solitary explorations, and wiped the other clean.

“Still with me?” Din asked.

“ _ Ni su'cuyi _ ,” confirmed the man.

“For once, you’re not accusing me of killing you!” teased Din.

Paz groaned and blindly grabbed for Din, bodily hauling him up until he could flip their position.

“We’ll see who’s killing whom in a minute,  _ mir'sheb _ .”

Paz kissed his path down to Din’s crotch, taking a bit of time to explore with heavy hands before he gently pushed Din’s legs apart. In order to fit Paz’s larger frame there, Din had to stretch into a position that, in his mind’s eye, was arousing in its obscenity. It also made Din feel vulnerable, and he resisted the urge to fight back. Paz must have noticed the twitch in Din’s legs, for he asked:

“Everything okay?”

“Trying not to kick you in the head,” bit out Din.

“Let me help you relax,” offered Paz, waiting for Din’s approval before diving down.

Din’s cock had flagged a bit, but, employing the tricks Din had barely discovered, Paz endeavored to having it fill up again. He achieved his goal, and then more, Din keening and chasing after Paz’s mouth as he let it go to say:

“Din, can you… Would you show me what you want?” 

Din made a questioning noise, his brain too mushy to process the request. Paz’s hand found his, which had been gripping the bedroll, and took it to Paz’s head. Understanding what was being asked, Din buried his hand in Paz’s hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling gently. Din felt himself quiver as Paz moaned beautifully, letting Din guide him back to his cock. Panting in the blackness, all thoughts of vulnerability gone as Paz let him set the pace, Din did not last long, coming with a shake and a groan. Din let his hand fall back down to the bedroll, and a moment passed in silence, his only connection to Paz the other’s hands on his thighs. 

“You ok?” asked Din, coming back to himself.

“Yeah. You swallowed too?”

“I did. Bit weird, right?”

“Salty, and… sour?”

Din chuckled. Grasping for it in the dark, he recovered the package of  _ uj’ayali _ , which he’d placed by the bedroll when they had undressed. 

“Come here,” Din said, patting the bedroll.

They shuffled in the dark, until they were sitting side by side on the bedroll, leaning on the wall. Whenever they hung out in this spot, they ended up there. There was something about looking ahead rather than at each other that made it easier to share their fears and wants. Of course, they’d never been stark naked in total darkness, but there was a first for everything. 

“Here,” said Din, finding Paz’s hand and dropping some cake in it. 

Soon, they would have to get dressed and head back to the heart of the Covert to endure their punishment. But for a moment more, they were just two lovers, basking in each other’s presence and sharing the simple joy of tasty food.

___

Thankfully, the offense had not been deemed grave enough to require the Armorer’s involvement. She was young, younger than many of the hunters, but not to be trifled with. Instead, Paz and Din got dressed down in front of the whole Covert, then sent to their respective clans’ lodgings for further punishment. 

That was where Din was, kneeling in front of his standing  _ buir _ , head lowered, the image of repentance. 

“You helped in the theft, that is clear,” started the man, “but did you partake, Din?”

Din thanked the stars for Mandalorians and their helmets, as he felt his face flame, thinking of the other forbidden delights he had partook in earlier. 

“Din?” insisted  _ buir _ .

“I had a bite,” admitted Din, voice strangled.

_ Buir _ shook his head, and Din’s heart tightened with the shame of being a disappointment.

“Of all the  _ ade _ , you had to befriend the Vizsla scion.”

_ Buir _ ’s tone clearly indicated this was not a good thing.

“ _ He _ befriended  _ me _ ,” protested Din, before adding, in a streak of honesty: “He’s the only one who bothered.” 

_ Buir _ sighed.

“Well. At least his House takes the Creed seriously. He won’t lead you astray there.” 

Din very carefully did not move, did not breathe too loud, did not choke on his spit, did not think of Paz’s soft hair as Din pulled on it to kiss him, the other boy’s lips warm and still sticky with honey. Willing the memories away, as well as the arousal they brought, Din presented his  _ buir _ with a small, wrapped parcel. 

“Besides,” the teenager said, “I rescued some of the  _ uj’ayali _ .”

The man took the offering, unfolding the waxed fabric that protected the delicacy inside. There was not much of the cake left.

“That is not enough for all the  _ beroyase _ ,” he remarked. 

The man broke a piece off the cake, sneaking it under the edge of his helmet, unsealed for the barest of moments, before handing the rest back to Din, wrapping and all. Din accepted it by reflex, flabbergasted. Some of his surprise must have shown, for his  _ buir _ shrugged, and said: 

“It would have ended in a bloody fight, all for two bites of cake. Now, you better cover your tracks and get rid of every crumb,  _ ad _ .”

“Yes,  _ buir _ ,” agreed Din, still poleaxed at having escaped punishment, but clinging to the sweet morsel, his mind already on finding Paz, and sharing it with him.


End file.
